Furious Jones and the Assassin’s Secret Read Free Page A

mean, there is some truly sick stuff happening in this small town. And Carson meets his match in this book. I think the readers will be surprised—”
    He paused as I started walking up the main aisle. I could feel people turning to look at me now. I tried not to make eye contact with any of them.
    â€œAh,” my dad muttered. “Carson discovers that . . .” He paused again. “Let’s just say sometimes it is hard to tell your enemies from your friends.”
    I stopped in the darkness.
    That was odd. That was almost identical to the thing Attorney General Como had said. I turned back toward my dad when—
    BANG!
    BANG!
    BANG!

CHAPTER THREE
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    T hree quick explosions thundered through the ballroom, and I watched my dad fall to the stage floor. I let out a scream, and then, as if time had slowed, I saw Gary, Como’s secret service man, stand up. The spotlight lit his body as he stood. He had a gun in his hand and started to point it across the room, looking for the shooter.
    My eyes followed the path of the gun. It pointed to a skinny man in a leather jacket standing off to the side. The skinny man’s slicked-back hair shimmered in the spotlight. Did he have a gun? Had he just shot my dad?
    Several more explosions rang out. These were faster and higher-pitched. Blood and brain matter seemed to hang in the air where the head of the man with the slicked-back hairhad been. Then, as if someone had pushed a fast-forward button, the room erupted in chaos. People were screaming. People were crying and climbing over chairs and one another.
    A mass of bodies filled the aisle and swept me out the ballroom doors.
    I saw Joe, the other secret service agent, fighting the crowd in an effort to get into the ballroom. His gun was drawn, and he was shoving people out of his way. I ran down a hall I didn’t recognize. And then another hall. There was a door with an EXIT sign. I went through the door and found myself in an alley.
    I fell to the ground and grabbed my face and started to cry.
    â€œOh, god! Oh, god!”
    I stopped and looked around. With no one in sight, I cried harder.
    â€œOh my god,” I cried. “Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god.”
    I tried to stop but couldn’t. My eyes stung. My nose was running. Not here. Not like this.
    Pull yourself together, Furious!
    I sat up and wiped my nose on my sleeve. I could hear sirens coming from every direction. I wondered if I should go back inside and help my dad. There had been so much blood. There was no way he was still alive. I looked toward the street, and cop cars were trying to cut through the crowd of people in the street in front of the hotel. I needed to leave.They would call my grandpa soon, and he would panic when he couldn’t find me. I couldn’t do that to him. He had already been through so much. And I didn’t want him to know I’d lied to him. I had to try to get home before he got the call.
    I crossed Fifth and looked back toward the hotel. A half-dozen cop cars were blocking the street, and people were pouring out of the front door. I turned and headed to the corner subway station. I could take the subway to Grand Central and then catch a train back to my grandpa’s house in New Canaan.
    I made my way down to the subway platform. The lights in the station were bright and my eyes burned from crying. I closed my eyes for a second and pictures of my dad’s body hitting the stage were vivid in my mind. I could see the blood on his dress shirt, face, and hair. I tried to replace the image, but I knew it was pointless. I had no control over the way my screwed-up mind retained images. The picture of my dad’s dead body would stick forever. Every detail would sit right next to the image I saw of my mom’s dead body.
    A train raced into the station and came to a quick stop. I got on and headed to the back of the car. I sprawled out on a double seat and stared out the window.
    It was